


the clarity of moonlight

by AV_Dragnire, LeilaKalomi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Human, Cults, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Shapeshifting, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), not actually very dark at all, not as dark as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AV_Dragnire/pseuds/AV_Dragnire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilaKalomi/pseuds/LeilaKalomi
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are happy together, and though Aziraphale can't say the words, they're in love. Everything is perfect, except that once a month, Crowley just disappears, and he won't explain why.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), past Aziraphale/Gabriel - Relationship, past Crowley/Lucifer
Comments: 40
Kudos: 247
Collections: Get A Wiggle On Zine





	the clarity of moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Don't miss the gorgeous art by AV_Dragnire at the end!

Aziraphale Fell was happy. He had a lovely, successful bookshop in Soho and a nice, cozy flat just upstairs. He had kind friends and a loving, handsome boyfriend.

But there was the problem. Not Crowley himself—Aziraphale found him fascinating and beautiful, and had been completely enchanted by him since their first meeting, when Crowley had come in looking for books on curses. He’d been surprised when Crowley seemed to feel the same. They’d gone on dates, and Aziraphale found he had much more in common than he would have expected with the svelte, mysterious stranger. From the start, everything between them had felt natural, easy. Despite his slightly sinister appearance (Crowley had a face tattoo and his eyes were a little, well, reptilian), Crowley had proved kind and gentle and thoughtful.

For months now, Crowley had even said he loved Aziraphale. Aziraphale believed him—or tried to. He loved Crowley too, even if he couldn’t say it. Because there was something Crowley was hiding. Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to admit he loved him only to have it all turn out to be some sort of ruse.

It had happened before. Gabriel had said he loved Aziraphale, so Aziraphale had opened himself up. Then Gabriel turned demanding, saying it was his love that gave him his standards for what he expected from Aziraphale. Saying if Aziraphale loved him, he wouldn’t _mind_ making more of an effort to be the kind of man Gabriel wanted.

Crowley wasn’t like that. But...well. There were times he left—just vanished. Aziraphale couldn’t reach him over the phone or even by text. He’d said, early in their relationship, that he needed to go away for a few days every month. When Aziraphale had asked him more recently to explain, he’d shut down.

Was there someone else? Aziraphale wondered. He kept that fear to himself, but he did ask, Was Crowley sick? Was it about Crowley’s family? Or perhaps a religious retreat of some kind? Crowley had only shaken his head and looked angry and stoic, saying only, “It’s no big deal,” so Aziraphale had stopped pressing. He had no idea what to do, though. It was becoming a sticking point for Aziraphale because, well, it was the _only_ sticking point. He couldn’t just ignore this when it obviously troubled Crowley.

Crowley was always antsy before his monthly trip. When he came back, he seemed normal, well-rested, if sometimes a bit hungrier than usual, a bit cuddlier. He sometimes felt that if Crowley would only tell him—even if Crowley was terribly ill or ran a crime syndicate—that it would be a relief just to hear it from him, to know that Crowley trusted him.

It wouldn’t change how he felt. If he’d only tell Aziraphale. He’d tell Crowley then, how he loved him, how he hoped they could spend the rest of their lives together. But how could Aziraphale suggest such a thing when he didn’t even know _why_ Crowley wouldn’t tell him his secret? What if it undermined the whole fabric of their relationship? What if Crowley was married? Or a spy with a false identity? (Or didn’t mean it when he said he loved Aziraphale?)

They were on the sofa in Aziraphale’s flat, wrapped together in blankets. Aziraphale sipped cocoa and rested his head against Crowley’s shoulder, looking out the window at the bright waxing moon.

“Love you,” Crowley whispered, almost as if he didn’t expect Aziraphale to hear. Aziraphale’s heart filled. Beneath the blankets, he found Crowley’s hand and squeezed it. After a few seconds, Crowley rested his chin on the top of Aziraphale’s head and spoke gently, so as not to jab Aziraphale with his bony jaw. Aziraphale could feel his voice vibrating through him.

“Going away Thursday,” Crowley said. “Should be back Sunday.”

“No, Crowley, not this weekend! Saturday’s the night of the reading! I can’t go without a date to my own party.”

“You can,” Crowley said, looking out the window, rather than at Aziraphale. “Plenty of people do. Not a requirement to have a date to host a party.”

Aziraphale huffed.

“I’m sorry, angel.”

“Does it have to be this weekend?”

“’Fraid so.”

“And even Saturday _night_? You couldn’t just pop back a bit early?”

“Nope,” Crowley said lightly, but his voice shook. He kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m apologizing. Work with me here, angel? It’s just a few days. You won’t even miss me.”

“You can’t move it?”

Crowley closed his eyes. “Don’t you think I—look, if I could just—Aziraphale, I can’t move it. I can’t come to your reading. I know it’ll be great. I’m sure the authors will all appreciate everything you did to make it happen. Know you work hard. Maybe it’s better I’m not there. Give you more time to schmooze and all.”

“Schmooze? Is that what you think I care about?”

Crowley just smiled. “Want me to heat up your cocoa?”

“Don’t deflect.”

But without Crowley’s deflections, the silence hung in the air. After a few moments of it, Crowley pushed off the blankets, disentangling himself from Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s heart sank. But Crowley kissed his cheek again and grabbed Aziraphale’s mug off a stack of books before walking off to the kitchen.

* * *

Thursday morning, Crowley woke itchy and achy and tired. By afternoon his vision would start to change and he would find his limbs harder to use, so he went ahead and watered his plants and moved his car, a 1933 Bentley he’d restored, behind the building so it wouldn’t be visible from the street. He was careful to lock the doors to his flat, deadbolt and all, before making a large dinner for later. He filled the bathtub with water so he’d have something to drink. He plugged his phone in and put it on silent and Do Not Disturb.

Except for when it first started, transforming had never bothered him as much as it did now. For twenty years, he’d been able to keep it a secret, what happened to him at the full moon and the way he didn’t always remember everything clearly after. That was why he couldn’t let anyone see him this way. What if they reacted fearfully and he hurt them? What if he was aggressive? Or had a taste for human blood or something? He couldn’t take that chance.

He’d wanted to reverse it ever since it had started, right after he’d broken up with Lucien when he’d realized the Circles were a cult. But after a while, the desire to fix it wasn’t as urgent anymore—just a part of life. _Hi, I’m Crowley. I like old cars and new technology. I want to learn how to stop turning into a giant serpent at the full moon._ It was how he’d met Aziraphale, actually, looking for books on reversing curses in his bookshop, which had the largest collection of occult books in London.

Crowley loved him. He knew Aziraphale loved him back, even if he wouldn’t say it. Aziraphale had had a bad relationship too. His had been longer and much more recent. It was this secret-keeping that was holding Aziraphale back with Crowley and getting in the way of what Crowley wanted. He saw how his angel looked at him sometimes when his “trips” came up, like he was getting impatient. Suspicious, maybe. Or like it hurt. But there were worse kinds of hurt. More dangerous kinds.

Lately, he’d been thinking about telling him, so at least he’d understand. Maybe softening it somehow: _Wouldn’t have met you if it weren’t for this. Otherwise I don’t read. Would never have come into your shop._ Maybe Aziraphale would swat at him playfully at the lie about not reading, even if the rest of it was true.

Who was he kidding? No one would react like that to his revelation. At best, Aziraphale would think Crowley was mad. At worst, he’d be afraid of Crowley or worried about Lucien coming back. Maybe he’d feel betrayed and never want to see him again.

Crowley ate his dinner quickly, tidied up, and went into his bedroom. He drank a finger of scotch to still his nerves; then, itching and shaking, his vision cloudy and colorless, he burrowed under the sheets and tried to sleep.

* * *

Afterwards, Crowley would remember slithering into the sun room with his plants to warm up, waking up in the evening to the smell of someone, and raising his head from his coils to investigate. It was a nice scent, soothing and familiar. _Aziraphale_. But there was something not right about that.

He would remember seeing Aziraphale; the way, in Crowley’s altered vision, he seemed to glow. He’d slithered toward him because Aziraphale was warm and soft, which he knew because they held each other sometimes, and he wanted to do that now.

He would remember watching him flinch, hearing him scream and stumble into the plant by the door in his haste to get away.

Crowley didn’t follow him. Even when Aziraphale shouted his name. Because even as a snake, he understood. He had frightened Aziraphale.

When he woke up human again, he was still on the floor of his sun room, and his bones ached.

* * *

After the reading Saturday night, Aziraphale schmoozed with the authors, watched the last of his guests trickle out, and on a whim, locked the door behind him as he stood on the street, watching them all walk away. It was a clear night with a bright full moon. Cool, but not _cold_. A nice night for a walk.

He walked for a while. Eventually he let himself head to Mayfair. He didn’t interrogate his decision to walk by Crowley’s building. He wasn’t spying or anything.

Crowley’s car was on the block behind the building. Aziraphale frowned. Well, perhaps he’d taken the Underground? If he was even still in London. Otherwise, perhaps a train, or a taxi, or even one of those dreadful... _Oobers_? Or perhaps he never left the city at all. Perhaps he only wanted time away from Aziraphale. Well, there was no need to be dramatic, if that was the case. Time to oneself was understandable. Only—why couldn’t Crowley have just _said_?

As he rounded the corner, a teenage boy darted out of Crowley’s building, the door hanging open behind him. Aziraphale leapt forward a bit awkwardly to catch it, ready to give some excuse (mislaid keys, a sick friend?) as he slipped inside, but the boy didn’t look his way.

He wasn’t sure what he intended. But it didn’t matter because at the top of the stairs Crowley’s door was ajar. Aziraphale frowned. What if something had happened to Crowley and that was why he hadn’t left?

Still, he hesitated at the door. What if he was wrong, and Crowley was inside and fine, but angry at Aziraphale for coming?

“Crowley?” he called. There was no answer. Aziraphale pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The flat was dark, so he flicked on the light in the living room and walked down the hall, looking into the rooms and calling for Crowley. Nothing. Well, perhaps he’d somehow left the door open by mistake. He started to leave when a motion caught his eye from the sun room, which he hadn’t checked. He felt a thrill of fear. He took a few steps toward it, then the thing moved again, emitting a soft hiss. A huge black snake, bigger than any Aziraphale had ever seen, even in textbooks, was slithering slowly toward him, tongue darting out, eyes oddly familiar, but...

Aziraphale screamed, his whole body clenching with instinctive fear. He ran, stubbing his toe on a plant pot, and slammed the door behind him. It wasn’t until he was back outside that he realized. _The snake. Suppose Crowley...no, no._ It was too terrible to think about. He had to warn him. He couldn’t let him go back into that flat.

He telephoned, but it went straight to voicemail, as it always did when he tried Crowley at these times. He texted, but there was no response. He wouldn’t be able to get back in the building now, and even if he could, they’d hardly let him sit outside in the hallway all night. He scurried back to Soho, his lungs burning with exertion. He got out a sheet of paper and wrote,

_Crowley, please don’t go into your flat. Please call me (Aziraphale) as soon as you see this. Please don’t go inside. It’s dangerous._

He folded the paper and rummaged around for tape. This time he got a taxi.

He managed to find his way back inside, piggybacking on another careless tenant, and taped the sign on the door. Just in case, he knocked and called again, to no avail, before returning to the waiting taxi. Back in his flat, he managed an hour or so of fitful dormancy, dreaming things that should have been nightmares—a thick black snake twining its cool length around him, hypnotizing him with its familiar yellow eyes—but somehow were not.

When he awoke, frantic, he tried calling Crowley again. He’d said Sunday, after all. But again there was no answer. Unable to wait and desperate to _act_ , Aziraphale ran out the door, growing sweaty and breathless as he walked as fast as he could to Mayfair. Crowley might not see the note. Might think he’d been exaggerating or that it was some kind of joke. What if his phone had died, or he’d mislaid it, or just didn’t see it?

He’d never even told Crowley that he loved him, had never said those simple words to the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Who cared if he needed a weekend away sometimes? What did it matter why? He thought of Crowley’s tenderness when he’d told him he had to be away, the way he’d sounded shaky and sad, like he wished it were different, like he was afraid to disappoint Aziraphale. That was intolerable. He would tell Crowley. He would go to him and warn him and tell him how he loved him. He deserved that, no matter what he was hiding, because it was true.

As he approached Crowley’s building, Crowley emerged and turned in the opposite direction, toward his car. He was staring at his phone.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, and suddenly he was _running_. He must have looked ridiculous, but he didn’t stop. He was close enough to see how Crowley lit up at the sight of him, how his face contorted at Aziraphale’s clear distress. Aziraphale grabbed him, held his slender form tightly. _Crowley_ , alive and perfect.

* * *

Aziraphale had gotten inside the flat somehow. _And Crowley hadn’t hurt_ _him_. He’d just wanted to be near him. But Aziraphale hadn’t known that; he’d been afraid, had screamed at the sight of him.

Crowley had asked him once if he was afraid of snakes. _Not especially,_ he’d said. It had given Crowley hope. Too _much_ hope, probably.

_“So you wouldn’t kill one if it got inside?”_

_“I don’t think I’ve ever_ killed _anything. Oh, no, I prefer to escort such things outdoors.”_

As Crowley ate his breakfast (a large one, after three days without food), he checked his phone. There were almost eighty text messages from Aziraphale—frantic things, apologetic, pleading. _Don’t go into your flat. Please. There was a massive snake, Crowley. I’m sorry, but I came by and saw the door was open. I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry. But please, respond so I know you’re safe._

 _Fuck_ , Crowley thought. He wiped the traces of his breakfast from his mouth with a napkin and stood up. Sod the dishes. He ran out of the flat, still scrolling through the texts. He had to go to Aziraphale.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted. Crowley turned. Aziraphale was running at him, looking grief-stricken and panicked.

“Angel,” Crowley said, as Aziraphale landed against him. “Hey, it’s all right. I’m all right.”

“I love you so,” Aziraphale said. “Crowley, please. I’ll give you all the time alone you need, no questions asked. Only stay with me. Marry me. Would you?”

Crowley drew back and looked at him. His eyes shone with determination and ardent, bottomless love. His lip quivered as the silence drew out, but his chin stayed lifted. _Brave_ , Crowley thought, and kissed him.

“A snake—oh, did you get my messages?”

“It was me,” Crowley said, the words pushing their way up and out of him. He couldn’t be a coward. He couldn’t argue that he was protecting Aziraphale, not now that he knew no version of him would hurt his angel. “I’m the snake.”

“What?” Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t understand. You’re—”

“Aziraphale, look, I know it sounds crazy, but remember Lucien? The cult? I think they did something to me. It’s at the full moon. I can’t stop it, angel. Only reason I was in your bookshop that day—looking for a way to fix it.”

“Oh, Crowley.” He sounded almost relieved, but Crowley couldn’t have that right. He couldn’t.

“I was so scared I would hurt someone. Hurt _you_. But then last night, I don’t know how you got in. I locked everything. But I...I just wanted to hold you, same as I always do.”

“Oh, _Crowley_.” Indulgent. Again—couldn’t be right.

“I understand if you...you think I’m crazy, or...if you don’t want...what you just said—”

“Oh, _darling_. I have the largest occult book collection in London. I’m hardly a _skeptic_. We can sort this out together. And perhaps, even if we can’t, I could stay with you when you change, and you _could_ hold me if you like.”

Crowley stared. He felt like his brain had shorted out.

“I’d be a _snake_ , Aziraphale. The giant snake you ran from.”

Aziraphale caressed his cheek.

“I shouldn’t have run. I think I knew it was you, somehow.”

“Do you still want…?”

“Yes, darling, if you do.”

“Absolutely,” Crowley whispered. He clutched Aziraphale tighter. “Of course I’ll marry you, angel. Never going to let you go.”

[ Art by AV Dragnire](https://www.instagram.com/ami.v.dragnire/)


End file.
